City Love

We went downtown Chicago to do our medical tests. It was rainy and gray on Michigan Avenue and we parked underground. I was sure every person carried a gun. I crossed the city street with my 5 year old hand stuck out and looked straight into the driver's eyes to make sure his car stopped for me. In that memory with its misty rain and gray skyscrapers, I knew I loved the city.

In my early teens we lived in Tucuman, a small, charming, gritty 400 year old city in Northern Argentina.The smell of diesel, the chatter at sidewalk cafes, the somehow exotic feel of having bored slightly aristocratic women watching me look at their treasures in their small high class boutiques.... and taking buses. I loved knowing the routes and watching for each next intersection with its particularities all of which I knew by heart.

College for me was in a suburb of Chicago but spring fever found us on the commuter trains, we ditched our classes and walked city streets. We walked by Garret's Chicago Popcorn and and Jewish bakeries with buns full of cream cheese and sweetness showing themselves off in the windows. After those sneak trips I signed up for inner city ministries and started going into the city 1-2 times a week. I soon found myself at home with my fellow displaced urban dwellers. In the end, I transferred to University of Illinois Circle Campus, I moved into the city and stayed for 17 years. That dirty city with its inconvenient grocery carts that you couldn't take to the car and orange street cleaning/no parking signs, and falling snow that once landed stayed pretty for only about 10 minutes. The fire escapes with shadow lines, the city play lots with fountains and cedar chips and other moms to talk to, and the lakefront. But the best part were the neighborhoods..all those neighborhoods, blending one into the next and making that city a walking wonderland.

And now I'm here these last 13 years in Bangkok. This city with hot breezes, red peppers, garbage tied up in bags on the sidewalk, tangled electrical wires up high, exotic flowers and color everywhere with mildewed, crumbling concrete for backdrops. All these people that I don't know. I imagine about them and make up their stories. I love to watch them and to love them, sneakily love them. I pray for the one ahead of me on the motorcycle, "keep him safe and take care of his family". Visit him, Jesus. And I love to smile at them, and to grin, and best of the best is when they look back at me and grin too.